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'…' Thought
"…" speech
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From Zero to Floor 100: Speedrunning Sky Arena
The last two days had been an absolute blur. You'd think climbing to the 100th floor of the Sky Arena would be some legendary achievement filled with epic battles and hard-fought victories.
Nope.
For us, it was more like speedrunning a game we'd already played before. Ging and I basically steamrolled through every opponent like they were NPCs in a tutorial level.
Round One: Insert vs. Mr. Overconfident
My first opponent was some guy who called himself "The Steel Crusher." Sounds intimidating, right? Yeah, no. He came in flexing, cracking his knuckles, talking about how he'd "sent men to the hospital" and how I "should just surrender now."
"Wow, so scary," I deadpanned. "I almost surrendered. Except, oh wait—I don't care."
He lunged at me, going for some over-the-top, dramatic punch. You know the kind, where they pull their arm all the way back like they're winding up a cartoon punch. I didn't even move. Just tilted my head slightly.
WHIFF.
Dude punched nothing but air.
"You missed," I pointed out.
He tried again. And again. Each time, I barely moved, letting him waste all his energy.
Five minutes later, he was panting, hands on his knees.
I yawned. "You done? My turn."
One clean palm strike to the gut, and boom, he was out cold. One-hit KO.
Round Two: Ging vs. The Karate Philosopher
Meanwhile, Ging's first opponent was some zen martial artist dude who gave a long speech about discipline, patience, and the beauty of combat.
Ging let him finish, nodded thoughtfully, and then said, "Cool story. But what if I just punch you in the face?"
Before the guy could even respond, WHAM. Ging did exactly that.
Knocked him out instantly.
"See? No need for all that philosophical nonsense," Ging said, shaking his hand like he was just swatting a fly.
Round Three: Insert vs. The Wannabe Assassin
Next up for me was some masked guy who clearly watched too many ninja movies. He threw a smoke bomb the second the fight started.
Too bad for him—I just stood there with my arms crossed until the smoke cleared.
Then he tried to sneak attack me from behind. I sidestepped.
Then he tried throwing knives.i don't believe they were real " the hole no weapons allowed thing" I caught one and threw it back" yeah plasic".
At this point, he started sweating.
"Okay, plan B," he muttered.
He ran at me, spinning like some anime character. Looked cool. Did nothing.
I tripped him. He landed face-first.
The crowd went silent.
Ging, from the sidelines: "You should've let him finish his combo, man."
Me: "What, so I could be mildly inconvenienced?"
One stomp later, and he was out.
Round Four: Ging vs. The Muscle Tower
Ging's next opponent was built like a refrigerator. Guy was huge. He flexed, veins popping, and cracked his neck with a sound that echoed.
"You ready, little man?" the guy sneered.
Ging nodded. "Oh yeah, totally."
The bell rang, and within half a second, Ging kicked him in the shin.
That was it.
A single, well-placed shin kick.
The guy howled, hopping on one leg, and then collapsed, clutching his knee.
"...You okay, big guy?" Ging asked.
"I GIVE UP!" he wailed.
I blinked. "Did… did you just beat a giant with a shin kick?"
Ging shrugged. "Shins are sensitive, man."
And with that, we were on the 100th floor.
Finally, Our Own Room! (Kind Of...)
The best part? Winning meant we got a room. A small, cramped, kinda depressing shared room, but hey—better than sleeping in an alley again.
As soon as we stepped inside, Ging flopped onto the bed.
"Ahh, home sweet home," he said, stretching.
I looked around. "We've been here for five seconds, and it already smells like sweat."
"That's just the smell of victory," Ging grinned.
"No, that's the smell of you not showering."
"...Fair point."
I collapsed onto the couch, sighing.
Two days, six fights each , minimal effort, and now we had a free place to stay.
Not bad.
After realizing we didn't actually need to fight every single day, Ging and I made a strategic decision—one match per day, no exceptions.
Why? Because after only a week, we were already sitting pretty on the 150th floor. Our reward?
A much bigger room—no longer the tiny closet we started with.Free food—buffet style, all-you-can-eat.Shiny new credit cards—each loaded with 10 million Zeni.A much-needed break—we basically turned the Sky Arena into our personal resort.
For the first time in weeks, we weren't running, fighting, or scamming our way through life. Instead, we were hitting the spa, checking out expensive restaurants (without paying because, y'know, fighter perks), and just chilling.
Oh, and I forced Ging to write a letter to Mito and Granny about us becoming Hunters. I didn't see what he wrote, but I could only pray he didn't say something too weird.
Ging's Letter to Mito & Granny
Hey, Mito. Hey, Granny.
First things first—before you start yelling, no, I'm not dead. (Granny, I see you reaching for the frying pan. Put it down.)
Guess what? I became a Hunter! Yeah, crazy, right? I bet you thought I'd either die or get arrested before I made it this far. But nope! I survived, didn't even go to jail (yet), and now I have a fancy Hunter's License, which means people legally have to let me do whatever I want. Pretty sweet deal.
Insert's alive too, by the way. He's the one who forced me to write this letter, so if this sounds sentimental, blame him. Also, don't believe anything he tells you about me—he lies.
Anyway, we're currently living in this huge tower where we fight people for money. Legally, I swear. We get free food, a giant room, and more cash than we know what to do with. It's basically a vacation, except sometimes we have to punch people. (Insert usually does the punching, I just mess with people until they surrender.)
Oh, and Mito, I know you're about to write a long letter back telling me to "be responsible" and "make good choices." I'll save you the trouble: I promise I'll try to be responsible and make some good choices. No guarantees, though.
Tell the kids on Whale Island that if they ever need a role model, look literally anywhere else.
Love ya both! (And no, I'm not just saying that so you won't kill me.)
—Ging
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We were thriving.
One fight at a time, no rush, no stress. We even made it to the 190th floor… three separate times.
Why? Because we found a loophole to milk the Sky Arena for money.
It was brilliant—until we got caught.
See, the arena pays you for every new floor you reach, meaning the first time you get to a floor, you get a hefty payout. So what did we do? We lost on purpose, dropped down, then climbed back up again. Rinse and repeat. Easy cash.
But, of course, some genius in management finally realized we were basically farming prize money like it was an infinite respawn glitch.
The moment security cornered us, I was ready to bolt, but Ging? Oh no, he decided to lawyer up on the spot.
Security: "You two have been abusing the prize system."
Ging: "Abusing? Sir, we're merely demonstrating resilience. Look at us—two young, innocent children, repeatedly overcoming failure. Is that not the spirit of Sky Arena?"
Security: "...You purposely lost to exploit the payouts."
Ging: "Well, technically, no one ever said we couldn't do that."
Security: "...Are you seriously playing the 'nobody told me' card?"
Ging: "Absolutely. We're just two poor orphans trying to make a living in this harsh world—"
At this point, the guards were so fed up that they just let it slide. Something about how we were "annoying, but at least reasonable." (Reasonable? Ging? In what world?)
Either way, we walked out still rich, with 500 million Zeni sitting in our credit cards and two giant rooms to our names.
Feeling pretty satisfied, I decided to take a well-earned break.
I figured, Hey, Ging can manage a single day without causing trouble.
I genuinely believed that.
I was so, so wrong.
It was a sunny day.
Or at least, I assumed it was, because I was comfortably holed up in my air-conditioned room, headset on, sunglasses on, living my absolute best life.
Beside my bed? Fancy drinks, burgers, fries—oh, and I even hired a Kumo chef to make me sushi. Life was good.
I was finally at peace.
Until—
BAM!
The door exploded open.
In stormed Ging, looking like he just committed at least three war crimes and was proud of it.
His hair was messy, his clothes were somehow covered in glitter, and worst of all—he was grinning.
I sighed, taking a deep sip of my expensive drink, already regretting my life choices. "What did you do?"
Ging, throwing himself onto my couch like he hadn't just caused irreversible chaos: "Funny story."
It was never a funny story.
"I am a DAD now"
I stared at Ging. Long. Hard. Processing.
"You're 11. Try a better story."
Ging, looking dead serious, shook his head. "No, really. I'm a father now."
I squinted at him, waiting for the punchline. Instead, he sighed and rubbed the back of his head.
"So, funny story—"
"It's never a funny story, Ging."
He ignored me. "Met this little girl. She came with her dad to Sky Arena. Her dad… uh… didn't make it."
I paused. "Wait, what?"
Ging continued like he wasn't dropping bombshells. "So, she ran into me, asked if she could crash at my place until she figured stuff out."
I rubbed my temples. "And you… what? Gave her money? Helped her find relatives?"
Ging, avoiding eye contact: "…Well."
I exhaled. "Ging."
"I was a little drunk."
Oh no.
"Ging."
"I may or may not have handed her adoption papers."
I blinked. "…Why did you have adoption papers?"
Ging shrugged. "I don't know, I was drunk."
I stared. "And she… signed them?"
"Yup."
I stared harder. "And now—?"
"I woke up with a tiny blonde girl in a pink dress calling me 'Dad' and I think it's legally binding."
I slowly lay back onto my pillow, staring at the ceiling.
"…I leave you alone for ONE DAY."
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Biscuit Krueger's POV
There were few things in this world that Biscuit Krueger couldn't handle. She had seen her fair share of idiots, prodigies, and walking disasters. But when Chairman Netero her sensei personally requested something, well… that was different.
She sat across from the old man, sipping on a cup of perfectly brewed tea, trying to ignore the way he grinned like he was about to drop some ridiculous request.
"Bisky, I got a job for ya."
She sighed. "If it involves anything stupid, I'm walking out."
Netero chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, it's fun stupid."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I want you to track down two rookie Hunters. Boys. Came outta the last exam. Names are Ging Freecss and—well, I don't actually know what the other one calls himself. Just some kid who sticks with Ging."
Bisky frowned. "Why? If they passed, they passed. I don't do babysitting."
"Oh, no no no, I don't want you to babysit," Netero said, waving a hand. "I want you to test them."
Bisky narrowed her eyes. "Test them how?"
Netero smirked. "Surprise them. See what they do. If they're really worthy of the license, they'll be fine. If not, well… maybe they're not worthy, and we gotta yank those shiny little cards back."
Bisky tapped her nails against the table. "Alright… and what exactly am I supposed to do?"
Netero leaned forward, mischief twinkling in his ancient eyes. "Simple. Trick one of them into adopting you."
Silence.
Bisky stared. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Make one of them your legal guardian."
"I HEARD YOU, I'M ASKING WHY?"
"Because," Netero said, chuckling, "if they're dumb enough to fall for that, I wanna see how they handle consequences." , 'also to get back at him for calling me dad' Netero thought
Bisky wanted to refuse. She really did. But the idea was amusing.
She sighed. "Fine. But I'm picking the dumbest one."
A Few Days Later—Sky Arena
Bisky had followed the two rookies for a bit, and it didn't take long to decide.
Biscuit became interested in their potential but not now she needed to see if they are worth it.
One of them was relatively normal, suspiciously perceptive, and didn't let his guard down.
The other? Ging Freecss?
A chaotic, impulsive little menace who ran on pure instinct, questionable morals, and whatever thoughts popped into his head at the moment.
He was perfect.
Step one: Find a believable excuse.
She disguised herself as a lost girl whose father had tragically "died" during a match. All it took was a little fake crying, some sad puppy-dog eyes, and a well-placed tremble in her voice.
Step two: Get close.
Ging, true to his nature, took the bait immediately.
"Aw, kid, that sucks. You got anywhere to stay?"
Bisky shook her head, sniffling.
"Nooo… I just wanted to see him fight, and now I don't know what to do…"
Step three: Apply pressure.
"You're really nice! Can I stay with you?"
Ging hesitated. Just a little. But that was fine. That's what step four was for.
Step four: Wait for him to do something stupid.
It happened faster than she expected. Ging was already a little tipsy—he'd just finished some celebratory drinks after another win. That's when she conveniently pulled out a stack of adoption papers she had "found" from a lawyer's office.
"I just need someone to sign as my guardian! Just so they don't kick me out on the street…"
She pouted. Big. Wide. Innocent eyes.
Ging scratched his head. "Eh, sure, why not?"
Before he could think too hard, he scribbled his name on the paper and—
Done.
She almost felt bad. But honestly? If he was this dumb, he deserved the headache he was about to wake up with.
Step five: Enjoy the chaos.
The Next Morning
Bisky stretched as she sat on Ging's bed, waiting for him to wake up. She kicked her legs back and forth, sipping on a cup of tea she had ordered using his money.
Ging groaned, sitting up, rubbing his temples. "Ugh… what happened last night?"
Bisky beamed. "Good morning, Dad!"
Ging froze. Blinked. Turned to see her still there.
"…What?"
She held up the legally-binding documents with a sweet, innocent smile. "Congrats! You adopted me! "
Ging took the papers. Read them. Re-read them. Stared at her.
Bisky watched as the gears painfully turned in his small, reckless brain.
Finally—finally—he whispered, "…Oh no."
Bisky grinned. This. Was. Gonna. Be. Fun.